


Spirotech

by saltythumbtack



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2018-09-09 08:15:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8883544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltythumbtack/pseuds/saltythumbtack
Summary: Natasha and Clint are sent on an undercover mission. The catch? Their cover is as newlyweds.





	1. Congrats! You hate each other.

Romanoff strode angrily towards the conference room, ignoring the looks she got from SHIELD coworkers. She’d had enough of Barton’s shit and she wasn’t gonna lie down and take it any more. Fury had ignored her complaints for the past few months, but this time Barton had crossed a line and Fury would have no excuse for not taking action. She burst through the door and stopped dead. Barton was already there, reclining in his seat like the smug asshole he was, waiting for her. “Glad you could join us, Agent Romanoff.” Fury rumbled from his position at the head of the table. Natasha fought down a biting response. She wasn’t late; in fact, she was ten minutes early to the scheduled meeting. Of course, Barton knew she was always early, and had deliberately arrived even earlier to make her seem late. Asshole. She forced a smile onto her face and took her seat with a little more force than necessary. 

“Now that Ms Romanoff has decided to join us, we can start the briefing.” Fury said. Natasha fumed, silently cursing both of them. “The assignment you two will be going on is rather unusual. It has required extensive planning on SHIELD’s part and calls for the pair of you to be undercover for an extended period of time.” Barton frowned slightly. “What’s unusual about that? Almost every mission we’ve done has required us to be undercover.” “If you’d let me finish the briefing, Agent Barton, maybe you’d find that out.” Fury responded, giving Barton a death glare from across the table. Natasha allowed herself a small smirk at seeing Barton get put down. Normally Fury wouldn’t dare contradict his perfect pretty-boy agent, and seeing him put Barton in his place was a welcome change. 

“The reason this mission is unusual is because you’ll have to be undercover for several months. You need to have an established background in the area, and in this case there’s no substitute for forming personal relationships with the people around you.” Natasha frowned. This was certainly out of the ordinary. Normally their missions were fast and dirty, requiring precision and speed. Extended cover was hardly ever expected, and she was a little apprehensive as to what a mission requiring extended periods of being undercover would be about. “What’s our cover?” She asked, unease bubbling in her gut. Fury let out a small sigh before answering. “I know you two won’t like this, but...you’re newlyweds.”

“You can’t be serious.” Barton exclaimed, an incredulous look on his face. “You’re right. This is all a practical joke. Get it together, Barton. I know you and Romanoff don’t have the best personal relationship,” Fury paused for a second, “or working relationship, for that matter, but you’ll have to put that aside and figure it out.” “What’s the mission objective?” Romanoff cut in, wanting to know the reason behind this bizarre cover. “Again, this is a bit out-of-place for SHIELD, but we’re trying to prove to the government that SHIELD, and members of the Avengers, can operate discretely.” 

“So this entire mission is to prove that we can do our jobs without blowing something up?” Barton asked, disgust evident in his voice. “What are we even trying to accomplish with this waste of time and resources?” Fury gave Barton another death glare. “The purpose of this ‘waste’ of time is to track down HYDRA operation centers and infiltrate them. HYDRA has been acquiring tech businesses around the world, and your objective is to work at one of these business and get an idea of how their operations work. You are not to seek information that is beyond your job level, nor are you to appear overly eager to gain promotions and more information about the companies. The purpose here is to understand how HYDRA is altering operations at companies it takes over, and why it makes such changes.” 

Natasha leaned forward on the table. “So we’re playing the long game. Waiting them out, looking for weaknesses, and then striking.” Fury shook his head. “We are only attempting to gain more knowledge about companies that HYDRA has overtaken. It is vital that you are not discovered, and taking down a recently acquiring company would be suspicious.” At this, Barton spoke up. “If I understand this correctly, we’re going to be suburbanites working for a tech company, right?” Fury nodded. “Then what’s the point of us being married?” Barton asked, Natasha making a noise of assent. “We need you two to be as normal as possible. Don’t stand out, don’t make too much noise, don’t be extraordinary. Be as typical as possible. Young, recently married couples with white-collar jobs don’t stand out.” Natasha reluctantly agreed. Single guys in a competitive industry were seen as ambitious, married guys on the other hand wanted stable jobs and were less likely to stand out.

“Now that we’ve gotten the mission sorted out, let’s move on to your cover. You’ll get a file on the way there, as usual, but you’ll need to pay careful attention to certain details. Firstly, you’re newlyweds, so you’ll be happy when you’re around each other. I don’t care what you do behind closed doors, but while in public you two need to be acting like a proper married couple. I know you two hate each other, but get over it. Newlyweds don’t want to kill each other.” Natasha let a small smile play around her lips in spite of herself. Improving her relationship with Barton was unlikely, but she was a good enough actress to convince people otherwise. 

“Second, while Barton will be working at the HYDRA company, Romanoff will not. It would be too out-of-place to have a husband and wife working at the same company, so Agent Romanoff will be working as an elementary school teacher.” Barton laughed, but quickly turned it into a cough when Natasha glared at him. “How’d, uh, how’d you pull that off?” He asked, clearly fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m sure Agent Romanoff will be more than capable of handling a group of third-graders, Agent Barton.” Fury said icily, wiping the grin off of Barton’s face. Natasha hid her smile behind her hand. Today had been a good day.

“What’s your name?”

“Barton, we’ve been over this. I don’t need you to quiz me.” 

“Humor me, Romanoff. I don’t want to screw this up. We’re supposed to be married and you can barely look at me without glaring.”

That was a fair point. She sighed and shifted in her seat so that she was looking towards him. 

“Name?”

“Natalia Baker, maiden name Natalia Lauren Reynolds. Name?”

“Mark Clinton Baker. When did we get married?”

“November 24, 2016. The honeymoon was in Hawaii, and we moved to Akron, Ohio because you were offered a job with SpiroTech. I found a teaching job and we’re planning on settling down here and potentially starting a family. May I spend the rest of the flight in peace?” Barton rolled his eyes but stopped pestering her. Closing her eyes, she leaned back against her seat and took a deep breath. She needed some time to prepare herself for being Barton’s wife for the next several months.

Someone was poking her. She didn’t like being poked. She opened her eyes to find Barton standing over her. “We’ve arrived.” He said shortly, seeing that she was awake. He started unloading their things from the jet, where they would then be loaded onto a moving truck to for transport to their new house. She got up to help, grabbing the bags from Barton and giving them to the moving crew. It was roughly an hour’s drive to their new home, and to avoid suspicion, she and Barton would be driving together, ahead of the moving truck. 

The drive passed without incident, and as they pulled into the driveway of their new home, Natasha couldn’t help but marvel at it. SHIELD had done a good job. It was a nice house, two stories, wood painted periwinkle blue. The perfect house for a pair of nondescript newlyweds. Barton parked the car, glancing sideways at Romanoff. She was gazing at the house, no doubt analyzing possible exits and escape routes if they were to come under attack. He put the car in park, nudging his partner. “Ready to move in, darling?”

Natasha rolled her eyes, putting on a dazzling smile. “Of course, dear.” She said in a false, honeyed tone. Barton made a face at her, and she let out a high, pealing laugh. She took pleasure in the look of surprise on his face, before leaning in close. “I can play the part. Can you?” Barton snorted, opening the car door and getting out. Natasha followed suit, feeling the chill in the air seep through her jacket. She hated the cold. The cold reminded her of Russia, and there were a host of very good reasons as to why she hated being reminded of Russia.

“Hi! You must be the new neighbors!” 

Natasha turned to see a frumpy woman in her mid-forties standing behind them. “I was out for a walk and I saw you pulling in. This house has had that “SOLD” sign up for so long, I was wondering if you’d ever move in!” The woman laughed, and Natasha joined her, walking forward to give the woman a hug. “I’m Natalia, and this is my husband, Mark.” “I’m Mabel Johnson. I live up the road in that red house over there.” “Pleased to meet you.” Barton said, moving over to shake her hand. “The pleasure is all mine.” Mabel responded, and Natasha noticed with some displeasure how long her gaze lingered on Barton’s muscled arms. “It’s lovely to meet you, but we need to get started on moving in, so-” “Oh no, I completely understand! I’ll come around tomorrow with a cake. You two have fun!” Mabel said warmly, patting Barton’s arm. She walked off, Natasha waving goodbye as Barton started unloading their bags from the trunk.

Barton groaned, slumping down onto a box. “I think that’s enough unpacking for the day.” He sighed, looking around at the room. They still had to wait for the moving truck to bring the furniture, like beds and couches, but they’d gotten their bedroom set up, and had a few small kitchen appliances and folding chairs until then. Natasha barely looked up from where she was cleaning her guns, meticulously disassembling and oiling each piece before reassembling it. “I want to get this finished before the moving truck gets here tomorrow. Otherwise we’ll never get any of this done.” She replied, standing up and stretching. 

Barton let out a long sigh, standing reluctantly to help. “Come on, Tasha. We don’t start work til Monday, so we’ve got a whole weekend to get this done.” Natasha shot him a venomous look. “First of all, don’t call me Tasha. Second, we’re going to be bombarded with neighbors all weekend, and I’d rather not have our house look like a mess.” Barton rubbed a hand over his face, briefly allowing his exhaustion to show. It’d been a long day, and all he wanted was a warm bed and sleep. He opened his eyes when he heard Natasha laughing. “What?” He asked, a self-conscious blush creeping up his cheeks. “I never knew you were such an old man, Barton. You’re practically asleep already, and it’s only 7 o’clock.” 

Barton tossed a pillow at her, and she ducked, laughing. “What happened to that aim you’re so famous for?” She teased, throwing the pillow back at him. He caught it, rolling his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be unpacking?” He asked in a stern voice, feigning fatherly irritation. “Okay, Dad.” She smirked, and Barton couldn’t help but laugh. Natasha gave him a sideways glance as he moved to start unpacking his suitcase, lost in thought. She was going to be married to him, have to live with him, look like she was in love with him, be a picture-perfect couple. _Well, there are certainly worse guys you could be stuck with._ She shook herself. Barton was not attractive, and they had an awful working relationship. This wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.


	2. Friendship? Maybe? There's a dick.

Clint woke to the sound of an alarm beeping insistently. He groaned, lazily throwing an arm out to shut it off. He sank back into the covers, shifting to press against the warm body in his bed. Hair tickled his nose, and he smiled, opening his eyes. Long red curls fell lazily over Natasha’s neck, trailing down her chest, and it took a moment before Clint registered that he was pressed against her. He moved away slowly, careful not to wake her, and realized that he was hard. _Of all the days to have morning wood._ He thought to himself. Slowly, he sat up, feeling his back protest at the movement. They’d spent all weekend moving in, and today was the first day of their new jobs. Their new lives.

“Morning.” Clint called, turning away from the stove to smile at Natasha. She was already showered and dressed, despite having gotten up after him, and looked ready to go. He did a double take at her outfit, a loose black skirt with a red sweater. “Something wrong?” She said, noticing his reaction. “No. It’s just weird seeing you out of a uniform. You look nice. Very professional.” She nodded her thanks at the compliment, eyeing his pajamas. “You’re not dressed.” She said, brow wrinkling with disapproval. “Yeah, I wanted to get breakfast going.” He said, sliding the eggs he’d made out of the pan and onto a plate. He added a few slices of toast, and set the plate down in front of her.

“You’re going to be late unless you get a move on.” Natasha said, checking her watch. “What, no ‘thank you’?” Clint ribbed. Natasha rolled her eyes, mouth full of eggs and toast. Clint disappeared off to shower and get dressed, and Natasha devoured her breakfast. Barton was a good cook, she’d give him that. She checker her watch again and sighed. If she wanted to get to work on time, she’d have to leave soon. Natasha padded over to their bathroom, knocking on the door.

“Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna head out now. See you tonight?”

Clint cracked the door enough to stick his head out, hair slick with water, shit-eating grin plastered on his face. “What, no goodbye kiss?” He said innocently. Natasha glared at him, turning on her heel to leave. “Have a nice day, _dear._ ” She said sweetly. 

Natasha rested her forehead against the steering wheel, trying to will away some of the tension in her shoulders. Kids were fine, hell, some kids were great, but parents? Parents were awful. No matter how much of a snot-nosed shit their kid was, they were convinced that their child was a gifted ray of sunshine. Natasha sighed. She’d never admit it, but she loved being around kids. They reminded her of when she was young, before the Red Room, before SHIELD, before everything went to hell. Natasha ran a hand through her long curls. To make matters worse, several of the fathers had unabashedly stared at her. Those fathers made her grateful for the fake ring adorning her left hand. 

She was pulled out of her thoughts by a knock on her window. Looking up, she saw Barton standing outside the car, holding up several cartoons of takeout. Natasha smiled in spite of herself, getting out of the car to greet him. “Hi, honey. How was your day?” She asked, standing on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. He smiled warmly down at her, kissing her on the forehead. “It was good. I grabbed some Thai food on the way home. I figured that since it’s our first day, neither of us would really want to cook.” Natasha laughed, bumping his hip as they walked into their house. “You know me so well.” She teased.

“How’s the job?” Natasha asked, curled around her food on a recliner. Clint was sprawled across the sofa, lazily eating eggrolls. “Boring. Too many meetings. Too much paperwork.” “Anything out of the ordinary?” Barton snorted. “I wish. Everyone there is as ordinary as could be. White-collar job, wife and kids, live in the same neighborhoods, go to church on Sundays.” Natasha smiled, and Barton looked at her curiously. “What?” She asked, immediately going on the defensive. “You’ve been smiling a lot more lately.” He said mildly, cocking an eyebrow. Natasha eyed him cautiously, clearly debating whether or not to talk to him. She sighed, shifting so that she was propped up on one leg. Barton mirrored her, sitting up so that they were on eye level.

“It’s comforting to be surrounded by ordinary things. Makes me wonder what life would have been like if I were normal. I could be settled down, nice job, friendly neighbors, steady, normal life. No aliens, no superheroes, no flying ships in the sky, no Red Room.” She broke off, shaking her head. “Forget it. It’s stupid.” “No, no I get it.” Barton said quickly. Something in his voice was quiet, soft, almost caring. “We’ve gotten so used to the unusual that this feels surreal. Our job is anything but boring, and then to be submerged in the ordinary...well, it’s different. Feels weirder than the aliens.” Natasha laughed, and Barton could tell that it was genuine.

“God, can you imagine how bored we’ll be in three months?” She joked. Barton groaned. “I don’t even want to think that far in the future. I’ll be begging Fury to give me a different assignment.” “You’re going to gain so much weight, eating takeout and working a desk job.” Natasha teased, laughing as Barton spluttered in protest. “Who says I won’t go to the gym?” “What, and show off for all the neighborhood women? No thanks. They already gossip about you too much. I don’t think being the fantasy of 30-something moms was part of the mission.” “What about you?” He challenged. “I don’t think there was one guy at work who didn’t ask me how I landed the ‘hot redhead’” He made air quotes.

“Oh, come on.” Natasha gaped incredulously. “They didn’t seriously say that.” “They did!” Clint insisted. “Asking me how you are in bed, asking me if we’ve done it over your desk, all this crazy stuff!” Natasha doubled over laughing. “No!” She gasped. “They can’t have asked you this on your first day!” Clint chuckled, watching her heave with amusement. “What gossip have you heard about me?” He asked, leaning forward on his elbows. “We-elll…” She said, dragging out the word. “They mostly talk about your arms. ‘Oh, he’s sooo strong!’” She giggled, affecting a high-pitched, swooning voice. “‘I bet he could really hold me down with those!’ and then they all act scandalized that someone’s thinking such dirty things about ‘a married man, Janice!’”

Clint’s face was scarlett as Natasha guffawed, nearly knocking over her carton of takeout as she rolled around, almost in hysterics. “What do you even say to that?” He said, amazed. “Oh, mostly that you’re quite the athlete in bed, and that it takes a couple rounds to wear you out.” She replied casually, winking flirtatiously at him. Clint choked on his eggroll, trying not to consider the implications of that statement. “So you’ve, uh, given them quite the impression of our relationship.” He coughed. Natasha grinned, and something about it made Clint shiver. “Aren’t newlyweds supposed to be active?” “Well, yeah, but we’re not going to…we’re not…” Clint stammered. 

“You say that, but then again, I woke up with a dick pressing against me.” Natasha said dryly. Clint felt his cheeks burn. Dammit, he’d been hoping that she’d slept through that whole experience. “Sorry.” He mumbled, surprised to find that he genuinely felt bad. Natasha smirked. “Can’t say I blame you. If I was married to someone like me, I’d probably be a bit pent-up too.” Clint groaned. Great. Now she was going to tease him about this until the day he died. “Besides,” She continued. “You had the decency to wait until you showered to jerk off. I’ll give you that.” Clint was speechless. They’d worked together for a few months, and she’d never shown anything but contempt for him, yet here she was, teasing him and joking about waking up with his dick against her ass. _This is going to be a long couple of months._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why do your homework when you can write fanfiction instead?


	3. Chapter 3

“I hate parties.” Clint complained, staring emptily at the array of shirts in front of him. Natasha rolled her eyes, concentrating on closing a delicate strand of pearls around her neck. “Well, hatred or not, you’d better hurry up. We don’t want to be late.” Clint snorted derisively, before surrendering and turning to face his partner. “Which shirt goes better with these pants?” He asked, holding up a blue shirt and a white shirt. Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Clint, we’re going to a party, not a board meeting. Loosen up a bit.” She strode over to his closet, looking over his clothes with a critical eye. After a moment’s deliberation, she pulled a few things off the rack, dumping them on the bed.

“Blue sweater over a white collared shirt, black slacks, black shoes.” She stated, pointing to each item in turn. “Or, if you’d prefer, you could wear a blue collared shirt with a darker blue tie, to bring out your eyes.” Clint stared at her. “You do time in the fashion industry?” Natasha rolled her eyes. “You have blue eyes. You need to bring them out. A sweater will show off the fact that you’re in good shape, but be more casual than a tie. If you want to be more formal, a shirt and tie, with no coat, is good.” Clint nodded, impressed. “If we’re trying to be casual, then why are you wearing pearls?” He asked mildly, making sure to keep his tone light. “They’re a wedding gift from my mother, if the neighbors ask, but between you and me, I stole them.”

Clint laughed, and a flicker of surprise crossed Natasha’s face. She still wasn’t quite used to the notion that she and Clint were...closer. It had been harder to hate him lately, and they’d even had a few conversations that were, well, friendly. The constant questions from coworkers had forced them to talk more in-depth about their covers, and it hadn’t been as awful as she’d thought.

“Tasha?”

She jerked slightly. “What?” She asked sharply. “We need to get going.” Clint said, cocking an eyebrow. “Yeah, gimme a minute.” Natasha said, distractedly pulling on a red curl of hair. She strode over to her closet, grabbing a pair of black heeled boots. Clint offered his arm, and she took it, rolling her eyes. “Ready to go?” He inquired sweetly. Natasha sighed, fixing him with a look of feigned irritation. “If I must.” She said haughtily. Clint grinned widely, allowing her to lead him out of the house.  
“So, what’s the story with this party?” Clint asked as they made their way to their neighbor’s house. “Mary’s husband got a promotion at the law firm.” “Which one’s Mary? The blond one?” “No, that’s Kelly. Mary has short brown hair and wears too much lipstick.” “I thought Liz wore too much makeup.” Natasha snorted. “She does. Mary just wears too much lipstick.” Clint groaned. “Are they all going to be here?” Natasha smiled wolfishly. “Yep.” Taking pity on him, she said “I’ll help you keep them straight, as long as you don’t drink too much.” Clint froze for a moment. Drinking hadn’t even occurred to him. “What, um, what happens if I drink too much?” He said nervously, unease bubbling in the pit of his stomach. “We do what all newlyweds do. Get caught making out somewhere, then graciously excuse ourselves.”

Clint lounged against the wall, taking a slow sip of his beer. He was feeling pleasantly buzzed, enough to relax, but not so much that he’d fall down drunk. Natasha was engaged in conversation with some other women, and judging from the high peels of laughter that rang like clockwork, she was enjoying herself. He took another pull from his beer. The husbands were as ordinary as ever, but at least they’d refrained from discussing the wives thus far. Though, now that he thought about it, once they got drunk, he’d probably learn way more about their marriages than he ever wanted to.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

Clint turned to see Todd, Mary’s husband, standing behind him. His cheeks were slightly flushed with alcohol, and he was tightly gripping a bottle. “Who?” Clint asked, inwardly cringing as Todd slung his arm around him. “Your wife. How’d you land that bombshell?” Clint’s throat tightened. Something burned hot in his gut whenever Todd looked at Natasha, but he forced it down. “Luck, I guess.” He offered, and Todd shook his head rapidly, taking a large swig from his beer. “Come on, Mark, share your shecret.” The s’s of Todd’s words were slurred, and Clint fought to hide his revulsion. “Yeah, Mark, you’re the most repressed guy I’ve seen in years, and you’re married to the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.” Chris chimed in. Clint shrugged noncommittally. 

“Busy with work and moving in.” He said shortly. Chris snorted. “I remember when Kelly and I were first married. Only thing that could’ve stopped us from doing it was the house burning down. Spill, Mark. Why haven’t you being doing her all over your shiny new house?” Clint gritted his teeth. He hated this stupid, insipid competition between guys. If you weren’t sleeping with a beautiful woman, then you weren’t a man. It was bullshit, of course, but that didn’t make it any better. He bite down a cutting remark, reminding himself to be as ordinary as possible. If ordinary guys bragged about their sexual prowess, then so be it. He opened his mouth, but was saved from having to reply by Natasha walking over to him.

“Hey, babe.” Natasha said, linking her arms behind his head. “Mary said there’s some snacks in the other room. Want to check them out?” Her eyes were smoldering with sex, and Clint let her pull him away, glancing over his shoulder to see Todd and Chris exchanging money. No doubt they were betting on what they were going to do. Once out of sight, he turned to Natasha.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.” She replied casually, popping a cookie into her mouth. “What were they asking you about?” She mumbled around the cookie, holding a hand to her mouth so as not to spray crumbs everywhere. “Why we haven’t had sex.” Clint replied, refusing to meet her inquiring gaze. 

“Ah.”

“Sorry, I should’ve come up with something to tell them, but I didn’t want to...give you a reputation, you know?”

“That’s very sweet of you, Mark, but it was going to come up sooner or later.”

“Mark?” He asked quietly. She flashed a quick smile. “Yes, Mark. Because we’re going to get caught kissing so that your buddies there stop wondering if you’re gay, and I want to make it clear that this is for our covers, not a personal thing.” Clint nodded, his throat suddenly dry. Half of him was glad that it wasn’t going to be personal, and the other half was terrified of how this was going to go. Sensing his unease, Natasha kissed his cheek. “Relax. If you start getting too handsy, I can always kill you.” “Oh, that’s reassuring.” Clint quipped. Natasha smiled, pressing sensuously against him. He shivered, suddenly very warm, as Natasha purred in his ear, “We’re going to go upstairs, find a bathroom, and make altogether too much noise to be polite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the overdue, poorly written update. I'll get better. Probably.


	4. Chapter 4

Clint was in a daze as Natasha pressed him against the bathroom door, kissing him fiercely. He kept his hands firmly in place on her back, fighting the desperate urge to lift her onto the counter and explore her body. Natasha had no such qualms. She pulled up his shirt, ignoring the buttons, and ran a hand up over his stomach. Clint shuddered, muscles jumping under her light touch, growing steadily harder as she touched him. The corner of Natasha’s mouth curled into a grin, and she inwardly marveled at how easy it was to make Clint fall apart. His blue eyes were clouded with lust, and his breath came in heavy pants as Natasha kissed down his neck, biting his collarbone slightly.

“Fuck, more, please.” Clint gasped, tilting his head back to give Natasha access to more of his neck. His breath hitched as she sucked a hickey onto his neck, and he couldn’t hold back a moan. Natasha sucked in a breath in spite of herself. Shit, hearing Clint moan shouldn’t turn her on, but she could feel herself getting wet. Clint pushed her against the counter, desperately kissing her. Natasha could feel his hardness pressed against her, and couldn’t resist angling her leg slightly to brush against him. She wasn’t sure what kind of reaction she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the one she got. Clint let out an animalistic growl, and his hands, which had been firmly resting on her back, now tore at her clothes. Natasha pressed her head into the crook of his shoulder, muffling the moans that threatened to escape her.

“Aren’t we supposed to be making noise?” Clint muttered huskily, his voice rough and low. Natasha shivered, trying to ignore the way his voice seemed to travel down her body and pool like fire in the pit of her stomach. Instead of responding, she moved one of her legs so that it were between Clint’s, thigh pressing against his crotch. Clint’s hips stuttered forward, clearly trying to hold on to the last vestiges of his self-control. Natasha pulled him closer, fingers knotting in his hair as he rutted desperately against her. She felt a flash of heat race through her as she caught a glimpse of his expression. His eyes were shut tight, brow furrowed, mouth slightly open as he panted in time with the movement of his hips. Natasha was about to kiss him again when she heard a soft “Oh, my!” from behind them.

Natasha looked up to see Mary standing in the doorway of the bathroom, shock plastered over her features. “I-I’m sorry, we wondered where, that is, you’d been gone for a little while, and, well…” Mary trailed off, staring unabashedly at Clint, who was still breathing heavily. “I’m so sorry!” Natasha said hurriedly, sliding off the counter and obscuring Clint from Mary’s prying gaze. “I don’t know what got into us!” Natasha continued, brushing her hair out of her face. “We’ll be going home now, I think, if that’s okay?” She fixed Mary with a dazzling smile. Mary nodded, still somewhat taken aback. “I’ll, ah, inform the rest of the guests that you’ve been found.” She said weakly, retreating away from the bathroom. Natasha let out a small sigh of relief, then turned to look at Clint.

Her partner was leaning over the counter, head cradled between his hands. “Do you need a minute?” Natasha asked hesitantly. Clint swallowed thickly. His cock was uncomfortably hard, straining against the confines of his pants, and it took every ounce of his self-control to refrain from pinning Natasha against a wall and finishing what they’d started. He managed a vague nod, refusing to look at her. Shit, he could still feel Natasha’s soft lips against his, the way her fingers felt running over his chest, how she’d tried to hold back her moans, the way it felt to-“Clint?” He shook his head, trying to dispel the faint sensations tingling over his body. “I’m alright.” He said, the roughness of his voice betraying his calm words. Natasha shifted awkwardly. Clint was clearly aroused, judging from his voice and the bulge in his pants. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, then made up her mind. “I’ll wait outside.” Natasha said, exiting the bathroom and shutting the door behind her.

Clint groaned, feeling even worse alone than he had when Natasha was in the bathroom with him. There was no way he would be able to ignore this, and he couldn’t very well walk into a room full of people and graciously excuse himself. He pressed a palm over his aching cock, and immediately a spike of lust shot through him. Clint fumbled down his zipper, not bothering to pull down his pants or underwear, merely slipping his hand under the layers to grasp his cock. His back arched as he stroked himself, not bothering to keep his moans quiet. He thrust up into his palm, precum oozing steadily from the tip as he grew closer to orgasm. Natasha’s name fell from his lips as he came hard, hips canting forward.

Outside the bathroom, Natasha’s eyes were shut tightly as she tried to ignore Clint’s moans and gasps. She was already wet from their make-out session, and hearing Clint masturbate was doing nothing to help. She bit her lip hard when she heard her name from the other side of the door, and silently resolved to get herself off as soon as they got home. Natasha brushed her hair back again, composing herself as the door cracked open. Clint’s face was flushed, and he refused to meet her gaze as she offered him her arm. “At least your buddies will stop bugging you now.” She joked, trying to lighten the mood. Clint cracked a small smile, privately wishing that Mary had taken just a few minutes longer to find them. Natasha led him downstairs, and he spotted an inebriated Todd fumbling some bills into Chris’ hand. Chris winked at him, and Clint gave him a tight smile in return. Natasha got them out of the party as soon as possible, and the walk home stretched and filled itself with an uncomfortable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the late update! Writer's block is horrible but I finally finished it and I really hope you enjoy it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's some past rape/non-con in this chapter. Red Room flashbacks.

Natasha stood under the spray of the shower, relaxing as the warm water flowed over her. There’d been some good-natured teasing and a couple of whistles when they returned downstairs, but for the most part it had been fine. But Clint...Clint was another matter. Natasha sighed, irritated. It was part of their cover to be affectionate, and while it wasn’t a complete shock that Clint found her attractive, she didn’t know how to feel about it. _He’s good-looking and you’re supposed to be fucking like rabbits. What’s the big deal?_ She let out a frustrated groan. Clint may have been nicer since they’d started this mission, but that didn’t change how she felt about him. They were friends, at best, and they should keep it that way. Personal feelings and attractions needed to stay out of their cover. 

A knock on the bathroom door pulled her out of her reverie. “I’m going to head to bed now.” came Clint’s muffled voice. “Be out soon.” Natasha called back. She let out a frustrated sigh. The low buzz of arousal hadn't faded, but she didn't have enough time to properly enjoy herself. Reluctantly, she turned off the water, stepping out of the shower. She towelled off, hissing slightly as the material ran across her sensitive nipples. Arousal pooled in her gut, and Natasha groaned as she realized that she'd have to spend the night next to Clint.

Natasha stared at the ceiling, listening to Clint’s heavy breathing beside her. Her partner had been asleep since she left the shower, saving both of them from any awkward discussions of the party’s events. Clint was undoubtedly embarrassed by his actions, but she could spare his feelings long enough for him to get a good night’s sleep. She had no such qualms about her actions. What she had done was purely for their cover. Still, Natasha couldn’t help but wish Clint had waited just a little bit longer before interrupting her shower.

Natasha punched her pillow into a more comfortable position, falling heavily onto it. Try as she might, she couldn’t forget how Clint looked when he was rutting against her. Fire burned in the pit of her stomach as she remembered how filthy and desperate it had been, how Clint had moaned when she bit his neck, how her name had sounded falling from his lips as he came. She shivered slightly. _If only it wasn’t for a mission._

She remembered the first time she’d kissed someone for a mission. She’d been-god, she was only nineteen, and the guy was some ambassador’s buddy in his fifties-married, too. And before that, there were the trainers in the Red Room, men who judged their...capabilities. All the girls waited patiently for their turn to be called in, to show the examiners what progress they’d made. One by one, they filed into the room, and one by one, they left, tears shining on their cheeks. The men blurred together with time, becoming faceless, shadowy, nameless. Just another mission.

Natasha rolled over, ignoring the sudden dampness on her cheeks. That was over a decade ago. Things were different now. 

She dreamed of the Red Room.

_Natasha shifted nervously, summoning up her courage before knocking on the door. “Enter.” Came the command from within. Taking a deep breath, Natasha pushed open the heavy door. Rimsky sat in the center of the room, waiting for her._

_“Natasha Romanoff, age 11.” Rimsky spoke, dictating the information aloud. It would be recorded by the men behind the mirrors, the ones who silently watched and graded Natasha._

_She stood silently in front of him, back straight, shoulders back, chin up, eyes down. She could feel his gaze tracking down her body, taking in every detail, noting every movement. A small shudder ran down her spine, and Rimsky’s mouth twitched with displeasure._

_“Were you given permission to move, Romanoff?”_

_“No, sir.” Natasha answered, eyes locked firmly on the floor._

_Rimsky’s lip curled disdainfully. He waved a hand, signaling to the men behind the glass that the cursory exam was over. Stage Two of the exam could begin._

_“You know what to do.”_

_She did._

_Of course she did._

_They’d all been told about these exams by their instructors, but the best advice came from the older girls, who had already passed the exams. They’d told Natasha what to do, how to do it, what each examiner liked best._

_Natasha knew what to do._

_Natasha pulled off her uniform jacket, letting it hang on her shoulders as she moved towards Rimsky. The examiner’s eyes were icy and hard as Natasha shrugged off the jacket, revealing her bare chest. She repressed a shudder as the cold of the room bit into her skin, trying to remain focused on the task at hand. Swallowing hard around a nervous lump in her throat, Natasha straddled Rimsky, watching him through hooded eyes. His eyes were dark as he surveyed Natasha’s body, taking in her barely-there breasts and thin, adolescent hips._

_“Continue.”_

_Rimsky’s voice was low, commanding, and made Natasha’s skin crawl. Something inside her was screaming at her to stop, to cover up, to run away and hide where no one could find her. Natasha ignored it. She knew what she was supposed to do._

_Experimentally, Natasha pressed her hips forward, sighing with relief when Rimsky hissed with pleasure. Good. She was doing it right. Encouraged by his reaction, she moved her hips against Rimsky in jerky, inexperienced motions. The examiner’s eyes clouded, and Natasha remembered the older girls telling her that this was a good thing._

_Natasha jumped when Rimsky ran a hand down her back, almost losing her balance on top of him. He frowned disapprovingly, repeating the motion, and Natasha steeled herself against his touch. She let out a small, cracked moan, tilting her head back to expose her neck. Rimsky made a noise of approval, reaching down further to cup her ass. Natasha’s jaw clenched momentarily, and she forced herself to relax into Rimsky’s touch._

_“Good.” Rimsky murmured, leaning forward to kiss Natasha’s chest._

_The older girls hadn’t told her this._

_They hadn’t told her how her skin would crawl._

_How she would swallow her cries for help and noises of disgust, replace them with false moans and begs of “more.”_

_She was numb._

_The exam was over. Rimsky had jerked and groaned under her, then dismissed her, the stench of sex following her out of the room. The other girls lining the hallway looked at her apprehensively, watching for any sign of weakness. She didn’t give them any._

_Natasha lay motionless on her cot, devoid of emotion. She had cried, hot tears spilling onto her pillow, but now she was empty. When she thought back to her exam, there was only a sense of clinical detachment and revision. The motions of her hips needed to become smoother, the moans less hesitant, the demeanor more confident._

_Over the years, the examiners lost their names. They blurred into shadows, the only distinction being what each of them liked best. They became a test, nothing more. And Natasha was determined to pass the test._

_Natasha scored highest on the tests. The younger girls asked her for tips. She looked at their ashen faces, saw their hands knot nervously, and told them each examiner’s preference. She told them how to hold themselves, how to move their hips, how to tilt your head back and make the prettiest moans._

_They would know what to do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhhh really late updates I'm sorry I'm terrible. Hopefully this is well-written and I hope you like it.


	6. Chapter 6

Natasha woke to an empty bed and the smell of pancakes wafting up from the kitchen. She stretched lazily, wincing as her muscles protested the movement. As she sat up, her dream came flooding back to her, and Natasha couldn’t suppress the shudder that ran through her. Taking a few steadying breaths, Natasha slowly stood, preparing herself to go downstairs and face her partner. 

Natasha was at the head of the stairs when she stopped, gripping the banister tightly. Her stomach was churning at the thought of seeing Barton again. What if he tries to touch me? Stop it, she told herself. He’s not going to do that. She started down the stairs, but a wave of nausea rolled over her as her dream came sharply into focus. No. I can’t do that again. Not anymore. Shaking slightly, Natasha darted back to her room and retrieved an old, oversized sweater. There. That was better. She made her way downstairs, feeling marginally less vulnerable. 

“Morning.” Clint called as Natasha walked into the kitchen, smiling as he saw the oversized sweater she’d thrown on over her pajamas. “You look comfy.”

Natasha flashed a quick smile back, sliding into a seat at the counter. “What’s the occasion?” She asked, nodding to the pancakes sizzling on the stove. “What, a man can’t make pancakes for his wife on a Sunday morning just because he loves her?” Clint teased, snickering as Natasha rolled her eyes. 

“You were talking in your sleep last night.” Clint said quietly, sobering up. Natasha tensed as though she was readying herself for a physical blow. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She replied blankly, tracing a finger over the smooth stone of the countertop. She refused to meet Clint’s gaze.

“You didn’t disturb me, Tasha.” He murmured, moving to sit next to her. Natasha shrank away from him, turning her head so that she couldn’t see him. Clint sighed, longing to put his arm around her and pull her close. Instead, he stared at the cabinets, allowing the silence between them to stretch and grow. Finally, he spoke.

“I don’t know what they did to you in that room. I don’t know who they are, I don’t know why they did it, I don’t know how they got you. There’s a lot about the Red Room that I don’t know. As far as I’m concerned, they’re all sick, fucked-up bastards who deserve to rot. I’d hurt them if I could. But I can’t.” At this, Natasha inhaled sharply, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. “I don’t need you to-” She started, but Clint cut her off. “I know. You don’t need anyone to fight your battles. But, Tasha…” He took a deep breath, shaking his head. 

“Tasha, I don’t know you. No one does. Everyone at SHIELD knows the basics. Everyone knows I made a different call. No one knows why. Hell, sometimes I don’t even know why.”

“Don’t.” Natasha warned. “Don’t bring that up.”

“Why not?” Barton challenged. “Tasha, I was sent to kill you. I chose not to, and I took a lot of flak for it. I know I’ve been an arrogant asshole to you for a while, but believe me, I was on thin ice after I took you in.”

“So, I have to tell you my life story now, because you were good to me once and treated me like shit for the next few months?” Natasha snapped, turning to face Barton. “I paid off that debt long ago. Don’t keep trying to hold it over me.”

“I’m not!” Barton snarled back. “Christ, Natasha, I’m trying to help you!”

“Help?!” Natasha shouted incredulously. “Help with what? I’m sorry I had a fucking nightmare about being sexually abused after I had to kiss you for a mission. It brought back a few bad memories.” 

Barton’s face went from an angry, blotchy red to ashen in the span of seconds. “Shit, Tasha, I’m so-” “Don’t.” Natasha spat, disgust evident in her voice. “Don’t try to play like you’re sorry. Enjoy your pancakes.” She stormed out of the kitchen. Barton winced when he heard the front door slam, followed by the sound of a car starting and rolling out of the driveway. 

Natasha’s hands were white as she gripped the steering wheel, the leather creaking under her fingers. Her breathing was ragged and uneven, her mind racing as she tried to process what had just happened. Barton was pressing her. He wanted to know more about her past. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Natasha kept the Red Room locked in a dark corner of her mind, and she didn’t intend to bring it to light. Ever. 

Screw Barton for bringing that up. She never asked him to save her. She never asked him to be her knight in shining armour, and she sure as hell didn’t need him to start that now. That debt had been paid in full, many times over. 

The house had been dark for hours when Natasha finally pulled back into the driveway. Silence covered her like a blanket as she pulled the key out of the ignition, quieting the rumble of the car’s engine. Sighing, Natasha got out of the car, shivering slightly as the chilly night air seeped through her sweater. She gazed at the house apprehensively, steeling herself to enter.

Natasha winced as the door creaked open, silently praying that Barton would be asleep. She had barely taken two steps over the threshold when a dark figure on the couch stirred, and Natasha cursed under her breath. 

“Tasha?”

Barton’s voice was heavy and slurred with sleep, but he was undoubtedly awake. Natasha weighed her options. She could try to run upstairs and avoid him, but he’d likely follow her and corner her before she could fake being asleep. On the other hand, if she stayed downstairs, she’d have to talk to Barton. Sighing, Natasha reached out a hand and turned on the light. She was awarded a moment’s satisfaction at seeing Barton wince at the sudden brightness, but it was quickly replaced with a wave of nervous nausea.

“How was your day, sweetie?” Natasha simpered, affecting a sickeningly sweet tone. Her anger was palpable through her honeyed tones, and Barton glared at her. Good. She was in the mood for a fight.

“Don’t give me that crap.” Barton snarled, running a hand through his hair. 

“What do you mean?” Natasha replied, eyes widening innocently. Barton’s scowl deepened, and he opened his mouth to speak. Natasha straightened, adrenaline pumping through her. She was ready for a fight. She wanted a fight. Barton, however, seemed to be in no such mood. He sighed, seeming to deflate, and fell back onto the couch.

“You left before I could apologize.” He murmured in a barely audible voice, eyes locked on the ceiling. Natasha’s head snapped back as though she’d been slapped.

“You were going to apologize?” She asked incredulously. Barton shot her a doleful look. 

“Once I’d calmed down a bit, yeah.” He admitted, shame tinting his cheeks. Natasha blinked, surprised. Of all the things she’d thought Barton would do, apologizing was not one of them. 

“What were you going to apologize for?” She challenged, not bothering to keep the accusation out of her voice. Barton had messed up, and she wanted him to squirm a little before she forgave him. _If_ she forgave him.

Barton sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “I shouldn’t have brought your past up. I shouldn’t have brought up how people at SHIELD feel about you, and I definitely shouldn’t have brought up the whole “making a different call” thing. I’m sorry.”

Natasha titled her head to the side, considering his apology. It’d be easy to take it at face value, and believe that Barton really was sorry for what he’d said, but Natasha had a feeling that this went deeper than that.

“Why did you bring it up in the first place?” She asked, careful nonchalance keeping her words light.

“I...look, I was curious.” Barton admitted. “I don’t have any right to pry, but...we’ve worked together for years, you’ve saved my life more times than I can count, but I barely know you. And last night, when you started talking in your sleep...it reminded me how little I know about you.” 

“You wanted to be my knight in shining armour.” Natasha stated flatly, watching Barton carefully to see his reaction. Her partner let out an angry groan, sitting up to face her.

“Christ, Tasha! I’m not trying to save you. I know damn well you don’t need saving. I just wanted to know. I was curious. I’m sorry.” Barton spat.

“You said you were trying to help.” Natasha retorted. She enjoyed watching Barton splutter with rage, inwardly laughing. This was fun. All those months of taking Barton’s shit, and now she got to make him pay. 

“You know what? Fine. I’m an asshole. I know. I’m sorry. You want to hate me? Go ahead. But you’re stuck with me. So I suggest you get used to it, and stop trying to push my fucking buttons. I crossed a line, I apologized, but you can’t just let it go, can you?” Barton shouted, crossing the space between them until he was nose-to-nose with his partner. Natasha’s gaze was sharp with anger, and she was breathing heavily. 

“No, I can’t let it go. I’m not going to let it go. Not until you do. You’ve been holding that damn “different call” over my head ever since it happened. You love being the knight in shining armour, and even though I’ve paid back that debt countless times, you can’t stand not being needed. So, you find something else you can save me from. Natasha’s having nightmares? Better make her pancakes and find that old suit of armour; the white knight’s saddling up again! Off the save the princess.” Natasha spat, disgust dripping from her words. Barton’s face was white with anger as he stepped even closer, his breath hot against Natasha’s skin.

“I’m not going to apologize for caring.” He hissed, his voice dangerously quiet. 

“You don’t care.” Natasha retorted. “You just want to look good. Fury’s perfect little pretty boy, the blue-eyed heartthrob of SHIELD, the knight in shining armour.” 

For a moment, it looked like Barton would hit her. His face, which had been white, turned an alarming shade of red, and his hands clenched into fists at his side. 

“Don’t you dare call me that.” Barton growled.

“Don’t try to save me.” Natasha snapped, refusing to look away from Barton’s menacing gaze. He held it for a moment longer, then looked away, making a noise of disgust. 

“Next time you throw a fit, don’t leave. You’ll blow our cover.” Barton called over his shoulder as he stalked away, leaving Natasha alone in the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late update again, but it's slightly longer than usual. I hope that makes up for it! Character development is a thing but it's a thing I'm not good at so instead we get this.


	7. Chapter 7

“Trouble in paradise?”

Natasha looked up from her desk to see one of her coworkers smiling down at her. Natasha shrugged noncommittally, fixing a false smile on her face. “What do you mean?” She asked, feigned confusion wrinkling her brow and innocence honeying her words. Her coworker-Helen, that was her name-gave her a sympathetic smile.

“Oh, Natalie, I don’t mean to pry. I saw you leave last night, and I assumed...oh, it’s none of my business.” Helen moved to go, but Natasha stopped her. 

“No, it’s okay.” She reassured Helen, who looked relieved. “I just...well, Mark and I aren’t used to this yet. New house, new jobs, new area. It’s all a bit much, and we had a fight.” Helen pouted sympathetically, and patted Natasha’s shoulder affectionately. 

“If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call me, okay?” 

Natasha assured Helen that she would, and Helen, pleased with herself, left to attend to her own classroom. Natasha sighed, looking around. Soon, the kids would return from lunch, and she’d have to return to her teacher-mode. Natasha checked the time, and groaned when she saw that she only had ten minutes of peace left. Damn. She’d forgotten how taxing ordinary jobs were.

Two hours later, Natasha had a splitting headache, one crying child, and another who’d somehow managed to put glue in his ear, despite the fact that they hadn’t been using any glue for any reason in the past two hours. 

“MISS BAKER!” A red-faced boy hollered at her from across the classroom.

“Inside voice, please, Jackson.” She smiled sweetly at him. Jackson’s ruddy voice screwed up with confusion, furthering his likeness to a pig. 

“Miss Baker, can I play with the blocks?” Called Jackson, marginally quieter this time. 

“No, Jackson. Do your math.” Natasha responded, ignoring his muffled sound of displeasure. Sighing, she glanced at the clock, and almost groaned with relief when she saw that the bell was about to ring. Straightening, she clapped her hands, and thirty small faces swiveled to face her. 

“The bell is about to ring, so please start cleaning up!” She called, smiling brightly. The class descended into chaos again as the children rushed around, bumping into each other in their rush to put away their things and collect their backpacks. Natasha crossed over to her desk, dodging several children, and settled down as the bell rang. “Have a good day!” She shouted at the children’s retreating backs. Once the last of them had departed, she closed the door and collapsed at her desk.

“Christ.” Natasha grumbled. “Who knew kids were such assholes?” Grimly, she surveyed the work on her desk. Homework to grade, reports to parents to write, conferences to schedule. She groaned slightly, pulling a stack on homework towards her. Checking the clock again, Natasha frowned. It was clearly going to be a late night, and her conscious tugged at her. _I should call Clint, let him know that I won’t be back for dinner._ No, she scolded herself. _It’s not like we’re actually a couple. Being late to dinner wouldn’t hurt Clint._

Somewhere around six o’clock, Natasha let her head rest on a stack of papers, just to give herself a moment to rest her eyes. She was exhausted, hungry, and more than a little irritated. Kids were great, sometimes, but other times they were a downright pain in the ass, and spending hours teaching them to spell their own names and to stop putting glue in their ears wasn’t a rewarding job. _Of course Clint gets to work in an office, and I’m stuck with twenty-five little hellspawns._ Natasha grumbled to herself, knowing full well that it wasn’t Clint’s fault.

_Stupid pretty-boy archer with his damn blue eyes and stupid talents._

Natasha sighed, collecting the rest of the papers and putting them in her bag. She’d finish grading them later tonight, after she’d gotten to eat and relax. She was nearly at the door of her classroom when the doorknob rattled, a dark shape covering the light from the hallway.

Silently, Natasha set down her bags and dropped into a loose fighting stance, her hand halfway to the knife concealed under her skirt. The shape in front of the door was definitely masculine, though small and compact. Natasha’s mind raced, scanning through the school’s faculty members, searching for anyone who could put a face to the dark shape. No one came to mind, so she unsheathed her knife, preparing to open the door.

In an instant, she pulled open the door, seizing the unknown assailant and pulling him inside her room, kicking the door shut and putting the knife to his throat.

“Whoa, Tasha, easy.” Wheezed Barton, holding up the brown paper bag he was carrying as though it was a white flag of surrender. “I was just bringing you some Thai food, since you never came home for dinner.”

Natasha released him, mumbling a quiet apology. She picked up the bag, stomach grumbling as the smell of kung pao chicken filled the room. 

“Thank you.” Natasha said stiffly, turning away from Barton. She hadn’t forgiven him for their argument, and was still deciding if she intended to. Her anger towards Barton and the resentment of how Fury treated him wasn’t going to fade overnight, and something told her that Barton’s feelings about her weren’t going to dissipate easily either.

“Listen, Tasha, about those things we said last night,” Barton said, as though he’d read her mind. “I’m sorry. I crossed a line, and I shouldn’t have. I know you don’t need protecting, I know I come off as an ass a lot of the time, I know I hold the “different call” over you. I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to drop everything and forgive me, but I need you to know that I know that I’m an ass.” 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, glancing at Barton appraisingly. She hadn’t expected an apology, and sure, she wasn’t entirely sold on its sincerity, but it was a start. She shrugged, taking a bite of chicken, chewing slowly as she thought through her response.

“You are an ass, Barton, and I’m glad you can recognize it.” Barton laughed quietly, shaking his head slightly. “But okay. I’m sorry too. I resent that Fury treats you like a golden boy, but I shouldn’t take that out on you. Yesterday was rough, and even though you didn’t make it better, I shouldn’t have taken everything out on you.” She said haltingly, the words sounding hollow even to her ears. “Let’s just pretend it didn’t happen, okay? We’ve got a job to do, and it’s like Fury said: we can’t let our personal feelings towards each other impact our work.”

Barton nodded, conceding the point. “Alright. So, home now, or are you going to stay and do more work?”

Natasha shook her head, gathering her bags. “No, I was on my way out when you came in. I’ll meet you at home.”

Clint nodded, leaving Natasha alone in her empty classroom. Natasha sighed, briefly slumping against her desk, massaging her temples with her free hand. She had a killer stress headache, and somehow knew that the rest of the evening with be no less stressful. Reluctantly, she stood, exiting her classroom and making her way to her car. _Leaving my fake job to go to my fake job and my false husband._

_What a damn day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Maybe! I can't promise regular updates, because I've had a lot of writer's block with this fic, and I have two other fics currently ongoing. I haven't lost interest in this fic, but it's definitely taken a backseat to some of my other writing endeavors. I'll try to update it as frequently as I can, but I don't have much faith in myself in that respect.


	8. Chapter 8

“Any good mail?” Clint asked from his position on the couch. Natasha spared him a quick glance before examining the mail she’d brought in.

“No, not really. We got a “welcome to the neighborhood” letter from the president of the...Homeowner's Association.” Natasha said, tossing the offending envelope down in disgust. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Clint nodded, not budging from the couch. Natasha raised a delicate eyebrow as he took a swig of his beer. “You planning on staying on that couch all day, Barton?”

“Yup.” He answered. “I’m an office drone; I think I’m allowed to relax and drink beer on the weekend if I want.” He twisted around to look at Natasha, his face screwed up in confusion. “Why? Do we have plans for today?”

“I was thinking of checking out the gym, maybe sparring for a bit.” Natasha replied. “I thought maybe you’d like to join me?”

Clint laughed. “As much as I enjoy having you beat me up, Tasha, I think it might raise some eyebrows if word got out that the local third-grade teacher knows martial arts.” Natasha frowned. Irritating as it was, Clint had a point. Martial arts knowledge wasn’t uncommon, per se, but her level of expertise certainly was. _Dammit_.

Noticing her scowl, Clint stood, coming to stand at the counter across from her. “Hey, we can spar here if you really want to beat me up.” Natasha laughed quietly, shaking her head.

“I appreciate the offer, Clint, but I think I’m just gonna go for a run instead. Care to join me?”

Clint heaved a sigh, glancing longingly at his half-finished beer. “I suppose drinking beer on the couch can wait.”

Natasha grinned, a sharklike expression that made her eyes light up. “Excellent. Meet you back here in five.” She disappeared upstairs, coming back moments later with a water bottle and towel. Clint groaned. 

“I’m gonna regret agreeing to this, aren’t I?”

“Yup.” Natasha replied cheerfully. “Can’t have you getting out of shape while on assignment, can I? Imagine how disappointed Fury would be.”

Clint stopped, bending over, hands on his knees. His chest heaved, making his head pound dizzily. Natasha paused, running in place, turning to look at him quizzically.

“Having trouble keeping up, old man?” She joked, jogging in place just to rub it in.

Clint glared up at her, face red with exertion. “I should put you over my knee.” He grumbled. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to respect your elders?”

“I must have missed that lesson.” Natasha replied cheekily. “It was probably somewhere between “proper dining etiquette” and “which fork to use”. I bet I skipped over it.”

Clint sighed, straightening up, one hand massaging a sore muscle in his side. “Alright, fine, I give up.” He held his hands up in mock surrender. “You are faster than me and have better endurance. O hail, mighty Tasha.” He bowed extravagantly. “My lady.”

Natasha laughed, pushing sweat-slicked hair out of her face. “Come on Clint. As much as I appreciate the offer of worship, I have to decline. It’s no fun beating somewhere when there’s no real contest.” She smirked, raising an eyebrow haughtily. Clint glared up at her, lifting his chin defiantly,

“Maybe we should have that sparring session after all.” Clint replied, squaring his shoulders. “After all, running’s no contest. It’s only fair that you beat me at something we’re a little more evenly matched in.”

Natasha’s grin widened. “You sure you want to do that, old man? Can your ego take another hit after your little humiliation here?”

Clint grinned back, then took off, racing back towards their house. “I’m sure!” He called back over his shoulder. “Race you there!”

Natasha rolled her eyes, setting off after him. Even with his lead, she overtook him quickly, reaching their door with a few seconds to spare. “Nice try.” She said, smirking imperiously. “But I’m still better than you.”

“We’ll see.” Clint retorted, following Natasha inside. She laughed incredulously, shaking her head. “I’m serious!” Clint insisted. “I’ve beaten you before, Tasha, I can do it again.”

Natasha cocked an eyebrow disbelievingly. “Clint, you beat me a few _years_ ago. Have you just been letting me win all those times we’ve sparred at SHIELD?” Clint scowled, but stayed silent. Natasha grinned triumphantly. “I’m glad that’s settled.” She said primly, winking coquettishly at Barton. His scowl intensified, but he dropped the topic of sparring.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” He said, punching her good-naturedly on the arm. Natasha nodded, watching him disappear upstairs. Once he was out of sight, she sighed, picking up the pile of mail that had been abandoned in favor of their run.

There was one letter out of the ordinary, oddly formal among the rest of the scribbled addresses and cat stamps. It was addressed to Mark Clinton Baker, from Spirotech Industries. Natasha frowned. Did companies usually send letters to workers who’d been there less than two weeks? She reached for the letter opener, then hesitated. Should she really be going through Clint’s mail? Sure, it was an undercover op, and “Mark Clinton Baker” didn’t really exist, but it felt...rude to be going through his mail without permission.

Sighing, Natasha put the letter aside, grabbing a glass of orange juice from the fridge to sip while she pondered the moral ramifications of going through your fake husband’s mail. On the one hand, it was likely information that Clint would share with her anyway, because of the mission. On the other hand, if Clint went through her mail without asking, she’d skin him alive. With a defeated sigh, Natasha picked up the letter, heading upstairs towards the bathroom.

“Clint?” She called, rapping sharply on the door.

“What?” He shouted back, his voice muffled by the door and the sound of running water.

“You got a letter from Spirotech.” Natasha called. There was a pause, then the sound of running water stopped. A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and Clint emerged, dripping wet from the shower with a towel slung low over his waste.

“What’s it say?” He asked, running a hand through his short hair. Natasha arched a delicate eyebrow as he shook his head, water dripping off him like a wet dog. Noticing her amusement, Barton stopped, a slight flush creeping over his cheeks. “Sorry.” He mumbled.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I didn’t open it. I didn’t know if you’d want me going through your mail.”

Barton shrugged, stooping slightly to squint at the letter. “Well, I don’t mind.” He said, shrugging. “Open it up, let’s see what is says.”

Natasha slit open the envelope, pulling out a letter embossed with fine black print. She read it aloud, Barton following along over her shoulder.

“Dear Mr. Baker;  
We are proud to welcome you to Spirotech Industries. We hope your first week has been satisfactory, and that you have found your work to be both enriching and challenging. We would be honored if you could attend the semiannual conference, held at Spirotech Industries in Akron, Ohio, this Saturday from 11 am to 5 pm. You are, of course, welcome to bring a plus one. The conference is intended to showcase the many departments and developments that Spirotech possesses, as well as giving new members (such as yourself) an idea of the level of results that we expect.   
We hope to see you this Saturday.  
All the best,  
Joseph C. Mallard, Spirotech Industries.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the thick plottens. I promise, no matter how infrequent my updates are, I do enjoy writing this story. I hope you enjoy reading it.


	9. Chapter 9

“I feel like I’m in a Bond villain’s headquarters.” Clint quipped as they approached the Spirotech building. Natasha snorted, looking at their surroundings. She had to admit, it did have a bit of a Bond feel to it. Everything was high-tech and opulent, almost to the point of absurdity. She was half expecting someone to come out and say that they’d built a giant laser capable of taking the Earth hostage or something equally ridiculous.

“Yeah, I can’t help but get that feeling, too.” Natasha agreed, a slight feeling of apprehension curling in her gut. There was no doubt in her mind that there were some questionable goings-on at Spirotech, but at the very least, they weren’t Bond-level of evil and absurdity.

She flashed a dazzling smile to the boy checking their tickets at the door, noting with pleasure that he flushed and ducked his head. Clint narrowed his eyes, but didn’t comment on the boy’s behavior until they were inside.

“He was staring at you the whole time.”

“Why, dear, I didn’t know you cared.” Natasha teased, delicately plucking two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. She handed one to Clint and clinked her glass against his, winking at him as she drained her glass. He raised an eyebrow, but copied the motion, draining his glass.

“Are we sneaking off to make another scene?” He asked quietly. 

Natasha shook her head. “No, I don’t think that’d make a very good impression on your bosses. But, we are newlyweds who just moved, so I don’t think we’re in any position to turn down free booze.”

Clint inclined his head, conceding the point. “Fair enough.” He held his arm out, and Natasha wound her arm through it, her hand resting on Clint’s bicep. “Shall we?”

“After you.” Natasha said with another dazzling grin.

Clint led the way into the throng of people on the floor of the building, weaving his way forwards. Natasha looked around, taking note of the exhibitions they passed. They seemed fairly standard, generic technological things. There were holograms, green grids of light, various graphs, and several disassembled cell phones and computers. Nobody looked excessively evil or suspicious, though there was no doubt plenty of embezzlement, cheating, and bribing going on.

All in all, fairly standard stuff.

“Anything of note?” Natasha asked out of the side of her mouth, smiling to an executive who stared as they passed.

“Nothing so far.” Clint replied, frowning at one of the displays. Natasha noticed the expression and followed his gaze to where a well-dressed man was standing in front of a large poster of Captain America.

“I stand corrected.” Clint said, inclining his head towards the stand in question. “What say we go see what that gentleman has to offer?”

They walked over to the stand, stopping at several others to appear more casual. Natasha was reluctantly impressed by some of the things they saw. There was a display that claimed to have an almost silent vacuum cleaner, several facial and touch-ID systems that required a pulse and breathing to work, and even a Mission Impossible-style mask-making device, complete with voice recognition. It was...well, cool. Science was never her favorite subject, but times like this reminded her exactly how intelligent the people who pursued it had to be.

There was already a throng of people surrounding the Captain America stand by the time they arrived, and for politeness’ sake, and so as not to draw attention to themselves, they hung back, allowing those in front of them to jostle for a better position.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please, if I could have your attention!” The well-dressed man was speaking, and after a few moments, everyone had settled down into relative quiet. The man took a deep breath, straightening his coat, and began speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am sure we are all aware of the advancements made during World War II in medicine, and I am sure we are all equally aware of the costs of developing those advancements. The Germans made many advances, but those advances came at the cost of the horrendous suffering of millions of people. But!” He paused, making sure he had the crowd’s attention before continuing. “But, there were also _American_ advances. Namely, this gentleman here, who I’m sure we all know as Captain America, a modern-day superhero. Now, why have we not seen more Captain Americas? Why is our army, which we devote so much time and money to, not full of men like this? Politicians talk for days and days about our military and our veterans, but they ignore one of the single greatest achievements of military and science. _A man who cannot age!_ A man who will recover from his wounds, whose judgement will never be impaired by drugs or alcohol, a man with the body of a god! Why do we ignore this accomplishment? What gives Steven Rogers the right to be the only one of us with such advantages?” 

There were murmurings in the crowd, some people nodding, others shaking their heads, but most staring at the well-dressed man with rapt attention. Natasha noticed Clint’s shoulders tensing, and smoothed a warning hand over his arm. He relaxed visibly, sending her a quick grin of thanks. The man’s eyes were scanning the crowd, measuring the impact his words had had. Seeing that the reaction was a favorable one, he continued.

“I have begun to develop a serum similar to the one used on Steven Rogers. It is not identical, unfortunately, but I am working on working out the kinks, so to speak. Our testing has primarily been on lab rats thus far, but Spirotech has graciously permitted me to use their facility for further research. With this serum, I hope to be able to make similar advancements in not just the physical health of the body, but the mental health as well. Think of what a regenerative serum could do to help patients suffering from Alzheimer’s, or to those with low blood counts. It could change the world.”

“You know, something tells me he’s a bad guy.” Clint said quietly. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I think it was somewhere around where he started talking about mass-producing Captain Americas. There’s only so much spandex and tight clothing the world can take.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“What?” Clint protested, grinning. “Hey, I think it’s a cool idea. I mean, it does kind of sound like every generic evil scientist speech ever, but if it’s done with good intentions, that’d be pretty awesome.”

Natasha inclined her head, conceding the point. “Yeah, I think curing Alzheimer’s would be amazing. But, unfortunately for him, I have met far too many evil scientists to trust him.”

“Maybe he’s just really passionate about science.” Clint suggested. Natasha arched a delicate eyebrow at him, and he wisely shut up, grabbing a sandwich off a passing tray and shoving the entire thing in his mouth. Natasha’s eyebrow crept up higher, but she couldn’t help but laugh when he tried to smile innocently at her, his cheeks bulging with sandwich.

“You look ridiculous.” She grumbled. “How are you supposed to impress your bosses when you have mayonnaise on your face?” She reached out, wiping the offending condiment off Clint’s face with her thumb, Natasha’s hand on his chin keeping him in place as she scrutinized his face for any more. Clint, to his credit, held still and didn’t complain about the somewhat childish treatment.

Satisfied, Natasha leaned forward, pressing a quick kiss onto Clint’s lips. He smiled when she pulled back, playing the part of a happy, newlywed husband with his wife. Natasha returned the gesture and took his hand, holding it tightly as they returned to wandering through the various exhibits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this is probably going to be a long note, so strap in.
> 
> I know it's been a very long time since I updated this fic, and even longer since it's been consistently updating, and I sincerely apologize for that. I started and completed two other long chapter fics, and this is now the last chapter fic that I currently have going. Since I'm now done with those fics, I can actually devote my time to finishing this one, so it will be updating more frequently!
> 
> Having said that, I am about to go on break, take finals, and then have winter break, so if updates are a little spotty, I apologize. I promise that I am devoting my time and energy to this fic, but the timing right now is not the best. I really do care about this fic, and if you've been reading this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for your patience.
> 
> I also realized that I don't really know how to write either of these characters, and that I apparently didn't have any particular direction for the story to go, so hopefully I'm going to get all of that squared away. Chapter lengths may vary, because I need to figure out what I'm doing with this story, but I promise that I'm working on it! I'm a mess and take too much onto my plate, and it's taken me far too long to get around to this. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	10. Chapter 10

“Why is it always evil scientists?” Clint asked, taking off his tie with a sigh of relief. Natasha shrugged, letting out a similarly relieved sigh as she slipped off her heels.

“Maybe science attracts a lot of power-crazy weirdos.” She suggested, massaging her heels. A blister was starting to form, and she was already grimacing at the thought of how sore her feet would be tomorrow. “I suppose the whole “playing God” thing has its appeal, in a Dr. Frankenstein sort of a way.”

Clint shrugged, smiling easily. “Yeah, I guess. I’m still waiting for the day when we have to take out some high-profile target and it ends up being some PTA soccer mom or someone’s history-teacher dad.”

Natasha snorted. “What, you got something against PTA moms, Clint?”

“You don’t?” He returned, raising an eyebrow incredulously. “They’re ridiculously competitive about their mediocre baking skills, and parade their children around like show dogs. It’s sick. And soccer moms are even worse! Have you ever been to a kid’s soccer game? It’s ridiculous! The parents treat it like it’s the World Cup or the freakin’ Olympics! They’re all yelling and swearing at a bunch of five year olds who’re just trying to have fun, or worse, were forced to be there by their parents! It’s crazy!”

Natasha inclined her head, conceding the point. “Okay. PTA moms and soccer moms are evil. What about the dad who teaches history? What’s your grudge against him?”

Clint shrugged, his grin widening impishly. “I suck at history.”

Natasha laughed, and Clint ducked his head, his cheeks coloring slightly. “You’re joking.” He shook his head ruefully, and her laughed redoubled. “You _can’t_ be bad at history.” She said. “How’d Fury even let you join SHIELD if you don’t know which presidents did what?”

“Well, I don’t know if you know this, but archery doesn’t exactly require a Master’s in History.” Clint retorted teasingly. 

Natasha raised an eyebrow, her eyes widening in mock surprise. “Wow, really? I’d never have guessed.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “No, seriously, I’ve gotten better, but I’m still pretty terrible. All the names and dates just never stick. I was great at math, though.”

“Hidden talents.” Natasha quipped.

“Right.” Clint said, leaning on the counter. Natasha mirrored him, meeting his gaze easily. “What about you?” He asked. “What’s your hidden talent?”

Natasha’s grin slipped momentarily, but the mask returned almost as soon as it left. “Ballet.” She said quietly, her gaze shifting slightly. 

Clint smiled, but there was something sad behind it. “Yeah, I can see that.” He said softly. “You seem like you’d be a great dancer. And, as a bonus, you could probably beat up anyone who says that dance isn’t a sport.” He offered her a crooked grin, clearly trying to ease her discomfort.

Natasha let out a quiet chuckle, thankful that he didn’t press her for details. Her past wasn’t exactly cheerful, and it wasn’t something she was entirely comfortable with sharing.

“So, do you think we should report the cliche evil scientist to Fury?” Clint asked, changing the subject. Natasha frowned, shaking her head. 

“No, it’s too soon. We don’t know what he’s planning, and for all we know, his intentions could be good. Maybe he really does want to cure Alzheimer’s or protect soldiers. Plus, it’s like Fury said. We’re not here to take anyone out. We’re here to gather intel. You’re stuck with me for a while yet.” She said, a ghost of a smile playing around her lips.

Clint grinned back easily, shrugging in an unconcerned sort of manner. “Oh, no.” He said, putting a hand over his heart dramatically. “Having to be around you. What a horrible punishment. Make it stop, please.” He laughed at Natasha’s scowl, reaching across the table to rest a hand on her shoulder. “I’m joking, Tasha. I like being around you.”

Natasha rolled her eyes, but didn’t move Clint’s hand off her shoulder. “I suppose you’re not as awful as you could be.” She conceded, the corner of her mouth curling upwards in a small smile. “I mean, I could be partnered with the Golden Boy Scout Himself, Steve Rogers. That’d be fun. I’d have a hard time keeping him from lecturing everyone on the importance of upholding democracy and paying your taxes.”

Clint laughed, and Natasha noticed with a tiny twinge of pleasure that his hand hadn’t moved off her arm. His hand was warm, almost uncomfortably so, and she was very aware of its weight on her shoulder, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was...actually pretty nice.

“You know, I didn’t understand why Fury put us together at first.” Clint said quietly, staring at the table. “I figured he didn’t have the budget to spare on sending on of those super-powered jackasses, and went with the two most low-profile people he could find.”

“Maybe he did.” Natasha said, tracing a pattern in the counter with her fingertip. 

Clint shrugged. “Maybe.” He said. “Or maybe he got sick of us glaring daggers at each other and figured that the best way to make us get along was to throw us out into the middle of nowhere for a few months.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “Sounds more like a plot to get rid of one of us, but yeah, friendship’s cool too.”

Clint snorted. “It’s always murder with you, isn’t it?”

“Well, yeah.” Natasha said, deadpan. “I am an assassin.”

Clint inclined his head. “Fair point.” He seemed to notice that his hand was still resting on Natasha’s shoulder, and quickly removed it, offering her a brief, apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Natasha replied. “We’re married. Besides, we already made out like teenagers in someone else’s bathroom. It’s not like I’m going to mind your hand on my shoulder.”

Clint laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind. And, hey, if I ever cross a line, you can always murder me.”

“And get away with it, too.” Natasha added, a dangerous smirk twisting her lips. “I could burn your body, dunk your teeth in acid or soda, and run to another country. I’d be gone before SHIELD even noticed either of us were missing.”

Clint stared at her for a moment, then inclined his head. “That’s comforting. And, on a completely unrelated note, I think I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.” He winked, letting her know he was kidding, and Natasha snorted. 

“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you in your sleep. I’m a generous person; I’d let you have a fighting chance.”

“Oh, so I’d have a fighting chance awake?” Clint said, his voice taking on a note of challenge. “What happened to me being an old man? Afraid I’ll beat you, Tasha?”

“Afraid you’ll beat me at bingo, maybe.” She shot back. “Other than that, I think I’ll be fine.” Clint opened his mouth to reply, but she cut him off. “Come on, old man. It’s past your bedtime. Wouldn’t want you falling asleep on the job tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm still horrible at updating, but I got it done finally. Woo! Hopefully you're enjoying the story.


End file.
